


Sear My Flesh and Bone // Że jeśli ja tobie nieszczęście, to i ty mnie nieszczęście!

by Marta_Ayanami



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: ENG lg version of previously uploaded ficlet of mine, English version of the ficlet, Gen, Just translated it rn, Oneshot, would have uploaded before but gotten distracted heh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:55:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24306280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marta_Ayanami/pseuds/Marta_Ayanami
Summary: What would he tell her, if he could?
Comments: 6
Kudos: 7





	Sear My Flesh and Bone // Że jeśli ja tobie nieszczęście, to i ty mnie nieszczęście!

"Geralt has told me once, Ciri said she dreams about you. Nightmares, just so you know," the poet said. "Listen, Nilfgaardian. One doesn't suffer horrid dreams at darkest hours about _good_ people, and you know it."  
"I'm not--"  
"I know, I know."

Cahir's weak protest was cut off.

"What are you driving at?" Cahir asked, frowning.  
"Not planning on writing an epic, that's for sure. Not about you and the little one."  
"Little one? You don't know her, bard. You know nothing about her," Cahir mumbled and turned around, unwilling to face Dandelion anymore.  
They were sitting at the campfire. With Milva dosing off, Regis looking somewhere far away and pretending not to listen. Geralt? Geralt was on guard duty. Angoulême was pretending she wasn't taking a nap. Not that anyone would begrudge her one after what happened yesterday. Without an ounce of doubt.  


T'was a horribly, horribly starry night. Cahir wouldn't mind if it wasn't so. If he could but look into some darkness, quiet the cacophony of his thoughts. Thoughts and thoughts and more thoughts, coming together in vain, changing nothing. Or feelings. Cahir was no poet. A soldier had no need for such images, and he was but a soldier, a warrior.

******************************

And somebody who loved. Or perhaps not. Who could say what was this feeling he felt? Whoever called dreams fleeting, was the worst fucking liar of all.

_*************************************_

_Nightmare. A vivid one.  
_

There was no need for Dandelion to say it, truly. Cahir knew already, felt - even if he'd rather lie he didn't. He knew. 

Her eyes, full of fear. The way she looked at him when trying to kill him. Trying? If she truly wanted his death, he'd have been dead. And that's not all, that's not what truly mattered, what truly perturbed the man--

There was no _Cahir_ reflected in her eyes. There was the Cintra invasion, made flesh. There was the devastation and death and loss of everything, in the flesh. Cahir didn't realise, at first. However, ever since that day, he thought about it, a lot, and-

Maybe he was right. What the girl saw wasn't his face, but all of that. And perhaps, he was wrong.

That didn't even matter. That wasn't what shocked him. That she didn't kill him- decided not to kill him--

That was what he still couldn't comprehend, try as he might. (She'd have been in the right, perhaps.)

There was something he didn't know, he's decided. About that moment. Being himself, and not her. Something deeper, perhaps.

Yet it didn't matter.

******************************

_The nightmare.  
_

In his dreams, Cahir had seen her. Before. Before she tried to murder him, him, the visage of the Cintra invasion.

Such visage! As if he could take responsibility for Cintra. Ever. In any way!

Before, and after.

The princess. Girl. Witcherette. Sorceress. Rogue. Woman. Powerful sorceress. And so much more.

How could he stop loving her? It would be easier to stop breathing. And he no longer cared or wondered.

Do you wonder why you breathe?

*******************************

When he slept, he dreamt of Ciri. Rarely ever was she happy or glad in his dreams. How could he, then, stop seeking her?

If, after being found, she was to decide to take his life, Cahir decided, already, that he wouldn't stop the girl, no, the woman, in that. And not to ask Geralt for mercy, either. Wouldn't ask Geralt to speak to her on his behalf. Would only agree to live or to die, whichever decision Ciri'd make. Give his life to her. Make her his one and only judge.

He still needed to find her first.

Of the whole company, only Geralt and he, Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach, the son of Ceallacha Dyffryna aep Gruffyda, were directly bonded to Ciri by dreams, by so called destiny, the fate.

Cahir's never asked for one such as this.

********

Once upon a time, he knew what he'd tell Ciri upon finding her

_Listen, Lion Cub, I'm not you enemy, not anymore. I find myself wishing for You to live. I think.  
_

_****************_

Once upon a time, he knew quite well what he'd tell Ciri upon finding her.

_Why, oh why, do you plague my dreams? Do I love You? Tell me, Princessa. Sorceress.  
_

_**************_

Once upon a time, Cahir knew what he'd say. What he'd ask. To finally learn Ciri's answer. Ciri's reason. What she knew.

_Why didn't you kill me? I can't comprehend You.  
_

_*******************************_

Once upon a time, Cahir knew, what he'd say, upon finding her. What he'd say, on his knees, before her.

_Forgive me. Geralt found You, when I couldn't. Perhaps it's better this way._

_******************************_

Once upon a time. No longer. 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Jaskier's 'name' means buttercup , but, since in official ENG translation they use mlecz (Dandelion) instead, who am I to argue? XD I guess those flowers are similar, anyway. Heh.


End file.
